Mexicans Are Such Hard Workers

By Anna Flores

I overhear my porcelain teachers clink their teeth together like a toast
in celebration of their tongues,
proud to be so kind.

My father borrows a name so he can feed us.

I dream about what he was before he was illegal,
wake up with fingers broken from weaving God’s hair,
two braids, double trinity.
In the temple, ama and I leave our bibles at the end of the bench near the aisle so we can find our seats every Sunday.
Prayers only work if you close your eyes.

I was born with my nana’s lips but this voice is mine only.
It’s not green, white, and red.
It’s not red, white, and blue.
It’s rain in a silver bucket.

At home, the men pluck their eyes out while they eat dinner.
The world would end if we saw them cry.

Mexicans are such hard workers.
They say it like it’s an honor to watch my father die.

Anna Flores is an actress and writer. She is a co-founder of the New Carpa Theater Collective and reads monthly at community spoken-word events. She believes poetry has the power to bring issues into the public sphere of problem-solving rhetoric usually left for political discourse. She believes poems can function as catalysts for permanent change.